Womanflesh
by Sharka
Summary: This fic was spawned by an informal challenge among friends: Would it be possible to get Lurtz involved with a woman without violencerape and not create something horribly sappy, Mary Sueish? This is the result I came up with...


**Womanflesh**

_"For nothing is evil in the beginning."_

(Gandalf the Grey at the Council of Elrond, October 25, in the year 3018)

The woman approached silently, her head lowered. Long ago she had learned not to look into his terrible eyes. She was not sure if she would be punished if she did, but the chill those eyes put in her heart was punishment enough.

"You will take him to the Hall of Steams and clean him up."

"Yes, Master."

'Wait a second...' she thought, so wont to submission and taking orders without thinking that even her confusion was slow to arise.

"Who...?"

Saruman waved his hand in a languid, almost discarding gesture. The creature the White One had referred to stepped forward.

Her eyes shot up, and her breath caught. 'One of _them_...' She had heard rumors of course, but then the Orcs spread all kinds of gossip. Still...

The creature silently bared yellowish teeth, and its cold eyes studied her closely; the gaze arrogant, but also strangely hazy and therefore slightly less frightening. The tip of a wet tongue ran over fangs and full lips.

She did not like it one bit. She was used to dealing with Orcs, but this creature was different.

Its back was turned to Saruman, but the wizard knew all too well what his creation wished to do.

"This manflesh is not for you. You will not harm her. You will obey her. Return to this hall when you are cleaned up."

The Istar's last words resounded with badly concealed disgust, but she doubted that his newly bred servant had noticed it. Its unrelenting glare was still fixed on her. It was probably still wondering why it was not allowed to tear a nice, juicy chunk out of her. She shuddered.

Bracing herself, she took a deep breath.

"Come on then," she said, louder than necessary, "you heard what our master said!"

The creature's head swivelled around to face Saruman. The woman almost jumped when she heard the deep growl. She swallowed hard. Reluctantly, she began to move toward the door, already hoping that this uncanny beast would simply choose to stay with its creator.

It did not. She heard heavy, yet astoundingly quiet footsteps catch up with hers. Forcing herself not to turn around to look, she was determined not to betray any sign of fear.

'So this is one of the new Uruk-hai breed the Orcs talk about day in, day out. I can very well believe it scares even them. It looks more dangerous than any Orc I have ever seen.'

The creature followed her through long hallways and over cold stone stairs, at times moving so close behind her that she could feel hot breath brush her neck. It made her skin crawl, but no harm came to her. The newborn Uruk-hai heeded its orders. Although it occasionally seemed to vent some discontent with soft, growling exhalations, it did not touch the woman.

The Haradrim servant of Isengard felt a bit safer now. After all, she was used to dealing with ill-tempered Orcs.

By the time they reached the Hall of Steams she had regained most of her composure. She loved this place. It held the only luxury available to her: to bathe in hot water as long as she liked when her chores were done. Orcs never bothered her here, and few human servants competed with her for this beautiful, serene place.

It had become her refuge soon after things had started to go awry – when Saruman found out there was little of her wisdom he could use for his own ends. Her magic was one of love and compassion; the manipulation of nature and the bending of its laws had been alien to her people until they had fallen under Sauron's spell, but such knowledge was the only one he sought now. Necheykha had instinctively recoiled from his practices.

She had come to Isengard with high hopes; leaving behind a family that had been overjoyed at her acceptance in the Istar's services. Her time as High Priestess had come to its natural end with the birth of her first child, and that she had been granted the honor of studying with a being of such wisdom as Saruman bespoke the favor of the Gods.

If only they knew! She was trapped like a helpless animal here; her pleas to be allowed to return to Harad had fallen on deaf ears. The reasons for this cruelty were beyond her comprehension, but the woman had observed her host's transformation into a being of darkness with mute terror and suspected that he still had some use for her, no matter how small or insignificant. Yes, he was a vile user and abuser of creatures and things, and thus Necheykha's thoughts ventured back to the wizard's creation.

"You really must be something special that he sends you here," she mused, unaware that she had uttered the words aloud.

The creature had almost noiselessly stepped around her and peered into her face now, demanding attention with a ferocious snarl. But this time she was prepared and met the Uruk-hai's arrogant gaze, careful to keep her own expression calm. After all this was herterritory, and there was a task at hand.

"Come over here," she said, gesturing to a tub. It was filled with fresh water and steam clouded the surface. A pile of clean rags was laid out on a low stool next to it.

'This is just like Saruman,' she thought. 'Everything has already been planned and prepared.'

All the better, so she would not have to spend too much time with his fierce-looking creation.

"Step in here!" she commanded, keeping her voice level not to provoke the Uruk-hai's anger. The head turned briefly to the tub, and she heard a sniffing sound. Obviously disinterested, it just blinked lazily and continued to watch her.

'Oooh pleeease!' she sighed inwardly, 'what am I supposed to do now? Wrestle it into the tub? Not an option. Throw something in and hope it will fetch? This will not work...'

She chose her words with care.

"Look, it is only water. You are... big and strong and do not fear it, do you?"

The slime-covered head was cocked, and a snarl that could mean anything escaped the creature's throat. Upon hearing it, her gently gesturing hands fell helpless to her sides.

"Can you speak?" she probed while gingerly reaching for one of the rags and dipping it into the steaming water.

The Uruk-hai nodded.

"What is your name?"

"Lurtz."

It was a start. Never mind that this Uruk-hai was not very talkative. She had not the faintest clue what was going on in the being's mind. It had the stature of a fully grown man – that of a well-trained, muscular warrior – yet the slime of its unnatural birth clung to its entire body. The loincloth was the only indication that somebody had taken care of it after it had left the breeding pit.

It was very young, yet endowed with knowledge. _His_ knowledge. Possibly knowledge vastly beyond that of a former priestess, and certainly of a very different kind.

"Look, Lurtz. If you don't want to go in there, that's fine. I will use this rag then to wash you... unless you wish to clean yourself."

She held out her hand, hoping the Uruk would take the cloth from her, but it did not. Slowly she reached up, the fabric brushing a solid shoulder. Skin unused to touch twitched in the manner of an animal's shooing away a fly. Again, her breath caught, but the warm and firm body did not budge.

She started to work her way down, not daring to venture too close to the Uruk-hai's head. Some of that weird slime still dripped from its face and hair, but nobody would persuade her to come near those murderous teeth. Not even Saruman!

Lurtz held perfectly still as she established a rhythm: one stroke down – rinse the cloth, one stroke down – rinse the cloth, one stroke down... The newborn's breath came with a strange purring noise he had started to produce at her first touch, but it was deepening in tone now and sounded calmer.

Pleased.

The woman relaxed a little bit more with the soothing, repetitive movements, but she never raised her head to look Saruman's creation in the face while being so close to it. Instead, she concentrated on the vast area of solid, muscular flesh before her. Careful not to miss any of it, she proceeded in gentle swipes, growing more confident as Lurtz continued to stand motionless except for the faint tremble of his purr.

After she had finished cleansing chest and belly, she hesitated. She could proceed further downward now... or do his back first. 'His back first,' she decided, taking her lowered eyes off the loincloth. For the first time she had actually thought of the young Uruk-hai as a 'he.'

And she could not help it but think of him as beautiful. His body was perfectly shaped. Apart from the cruel, feline face, only the odd-looking, leathery black skin and the hard, sharp nails of his large hands gave away that he was not a human male.

It had been a long time since she had been close to anyone with such a nice body – warm, strong, and scarlessly smooth.

Her ears started to tingle and her cheeks reddened with sudden embarrassment. Could Saruman read her mind?

'Stop thinking like that! This Uruk-hai might be able to smell your excitement, and your task is no longer that of a Haradrim High Priestess. Those days are long gone! Obey your orders, and do not even think about it. Don't get yourself into trouble!' she reprimanded herself sharply.

A little bit nervous now, she stroked Lurtz's back, wringing the rinsed rag with gritted teeth. The birth slime exuded a strange smell, almost like eggwhite gone stale. She tried to convince herself that it was disgusting, and that the creature she tended to was disgusting as well.

The Uruk remained still as a statue, and his pleased purr seemed to fill the whole room. It was a huge room, but at this very moment it felt as if it consisted only of the creature she was tending to, a bath tub, and her own insignificant presence.

A few seconds later she faced another dilemma: her thorough washing had brought the washing cloth near the firm cheeks of Lurtz's backside. Now the rag hung uselessly and dripping in her work-roughened hand. She sighed.

Did Saruman actually realize what he had gotten her into? Had he simply assumed that she was so resigned, so devoid of all feeling, that she could do this in an entirely detached manner? Very occasionally he took what he called 'favors' from her, although she would not have used the same words to describe what he did.

As much as she hated him and doing him 'favors,' it also meant she was taboo to Isengard's Orcs and Men. This was probably a good thing; yet sometimes she was very lonely. She had known that act to be one of holiness and intimacy, but this was a distant memory now, deeply buried against the pain...

With another heartfelt sigh she resumed her work, soon tending to thickly muscled legs and arms. Lurtz never spoke a word, and soon she found her thoughts go idle. At one point she was actually wondering whether he could speak and purr at the same time.

If she had dared to look up in his face, she would have noticed that he followed her every movement – quite relaxed for one of his kind, yet with intense interest; his full mouth no longer displaying the sharp fangs, eyes half-lidded, but without the haze she had seen in them earlier.

She was just about to finish wiping his left arm when she suddenly felt a small, stinging sensation in her left shoulder. Heat seeped through the fabric of her dress, and something wet. She started with a shriek to find her shoulder locked between razorblade-sharp teeth. They had not broken her skin though, and the wetness was merely a puddle of saliva.

The Uruk's unexpected move had not interrupted its purring, but at her outcry the tone became flatter, breathier, slightly more aggressive.

Everything had gone so well – until now! The woman was torn between futile anger and equally futile weariness.

"You will not hurt me!" she commanded, straightening herself in spite of the grip of those dangerous fangs. She felt him adjust to her shifting, but the teeth stayed where they were, simply holding on to her shoulder.

"Please," she tried pleading next, "don't do this to me... Let go, will you?"

To her surprise, the fanged mouth left, but now an eager nose and mouth started to nuzzle her hair, pushing away entangled strands, seeking out her ear and neck to inhale the enticing scent of her flesh.

She still held the rag in her right hand. Dizzy with fear, she discarded the desperate impulse to slap him with it, knowing that this would be utterly foolish. Instead she let go of it and put both hands flat against the warm, broad chest, trying to wrangle him away from her.

Lurtz retorted with a snarl. Then his tongue slowly laved over her skin.

"Don't!" she cried, fully aware of the hopelessness of her attempt. He weighed at least two times as much as her, probably more. Her hands balled into fists, and she began to pound against his chest as if it were a huge drum.

With another snarl he backed off a step. "I am n-o-t hurting you!" he growled.

The Uruk-hai seemed more confused than angered, but the yellow teeth remained bared, and his eyes shone very bright, glittering with unconcealed annoyance.

Yet she felt that he would not attack her. Maybe not willingly, he would still obey. Just like she always did, always would. Two of Saruman's puppets. They had nothing more in common than this, but suddenly, somehow, she felt sorry. Sorry for the predicament they were in, and sorry for the proud creature that – whatever knowledge it might possess – had not yet learned the true nature of the White One.

"You frightened me. Do you understand that?" she offered tentatively.

No reply.

"Please let me finish my task."

Obediently he stepped closer again, but his expression did not alter. Shakily she picked up the rag, rinsed it once more and turned to the serious-looking creature facing her. One more arm, front of legs, and she was done. She could simply maneuver around the loincloth. Certainly Saruman would not inspect her handiwork too closely.

'Not _there_!' she thought. If she had not been so exhausted, she would have managed a small, wry smile. While she would never be able to get back at the White Wizard, she could at least have a laugh on his account, even if it would be only a feeble one.

Again, the soothing swipes of a warm and wet cloth against even warmer, taut skin. The silence in the hall began to press down on her. She was aware of her own breathing now, a bit unsteady and shallow at times. She listened to the Uruk's slow and deep breathing, laced with the faintest snarl when he exhaled.

She missed that purr.

She was also conscious of the wetness on her ear and neck, left by a hot and rough tongue. Curious. Exploring. No, he had not hurt her, although to hurt and destroy was supposedly his only purpose. If the rumors were true, the Uruk-hai were bred to crave the taste of manflesh more than that of any other fare.

Was this the reason for his inquisitiveness – because his master's orders kept him from tearing her apart and devouring her, he had taken to licking and sniffing her, unable to satisfy that unnatural hunger? Was she simply _manflesh _to him?

With a faint noise some slime dripped from a long strand of black hair and dribbled down the dark arm on which her hand was placed.

"I should get this stuff out of your hair after all," she said quietly, more to herself than to him, quickly stepping around the tall figure and fishing a dry towel from the stool beside the tub. She reached up to his face, raising herself on her toes.

The Uruk-hai blinked. His expression had lost none of its apprehensiveness, and the edge of that exhaling snarl sharpened audibly. For a split second she dared to look into his catlike eyes, and he held her gaze. It exuded the same coldness she had perceived before.

She smiled sadly and began to tend to his hair, doing her best to avoid his predatory glare.

The coarse and unruly hair was hard to clean, and awareness of hot carnivore breath hitting her face did not make the task easier. The woman's hands trembled. She was much too close to these murderous teeth.

He did not enjoy this treatment either. His eyes narrowed, and suddenly, with a calculated movement, he jerked back his head. The woman lost her balance and fell forward, impacting with the massive body.

Her eyes widened as she felt something hard, yet springy, briefly brush her hip. As if bitten by a snake she jumped back – only to feel large, clawed hands wrapped around her buttocks.

At once she stood paralyzed and closed her eyes, bracing herself for what she believed would undoubtedly ensue. But Lurtz simply held her, completely at a loss what to do next. When the woman did neither move nor protest as before, he started to rub his erection against her body and buried his face in her hair.

This manflesh smelled so good! He pulled the lithe figure a bit closer, finding that he liked the feel of her body as much as her smell. Anew his purr resounded in the room.

Her forehead was pressed against his warm, still damp chest, and she listened to the thunder of his heart. The drumbeat of his life grew faster and faster while her body remained frozen in spite of the heat washing over it. Would he force her? In Harad, taking a High Priestess against her will was a crime punishable by death. A sacrilege. But this was Isengard, and what did this young, powerful creature know of sacrileges?

She waited, but no violation followed in the wake of the Uruk-hai's strong grip. Instead there was a sniffing sound and something warm digging yet deeper into her hair. His soft growl made her body hum. As her limbs begun to thaw ever so slowly, she began to wonder how long the Uruk had been grinding his fully aroused member against her flesh. Seconds or minutes? She was unable to tell.

Reaching out with her mind, she perceived no malice. Only raw hunger, primal need. And immense curiosity.

The large hands still rested on her buttocks. Clawed fingertips pricked and tickled, but without inflicting damage. His tongue curled once more around her ear where its exploration had been interrupted before. She shivered.

In dreamlike disbelief the woman observed her own hand snaking towards his body as if it was an alien being, as it first came to rest on a muscle-packed thigh, then slowly proceeded upward to disappear under the loincloth.

He fell silent.

She could not will herself to meet the Uruk-hai's tense and puzzled gaze, because she did not want him to witness her feelings ­– the sudden longing, the thrill of fear and unexpected exuberance. The woman felt vulnerable and strong at the same time. Within seconds, hot wetness she had not experienced in ages was seeping into her lap, and an overwhelming ache took hold of her body.

"You will like this," she whispered, the oft-spoken sentence easily leaving her lips, evoking a memory of more pleasant times.

When her hand had almost closed around his shaft, he understood her intention and thrust eagerly into it. The woman laughed gently as the pleasure-sound rose from his chest again, and while his thrusts became more forceful and urgent, her free hand started to nestle with the fastenings of her dress.

But her sudden activity irritated him, and so did the inevitable loosening of her grip around his erection. Stubbornly he resisted the sudden pull toward the black delta between her thighs and suspiciously eyed the wriggling woman.

His nostrils flared and an agile tongue flicked over the fanged mouth. Her scent called out to him, as did the expression on her flushed face. But why had she stopped pleasuring him? Was she teasing, mocking him? _No._ The wizard would dare to do that, not this one here. She was also bound to his master; a frail and powerless entity. He should despise this creature and not let it manipulate his body, but he felt or thought nothing of the kind. He only wished to explore her. Enjoy her.

While he contemplated all this through a haze of confusion that already began to border on wrath, her raised hands were fluttering nervously. Finally they came to rest on his upper arms – barely touching, gentle, soothing, without the merest hint of a demand. Only exasperated and somewhat helpless.

"Lurtz... will you trust me?

Trust. _Does he know what it means to trust – to trust and to be trusted? How has he come to know language? Such unnatural spawn of mud and magic for all I know, yet so vibrantly alive with the heat and the urge that is the mark of all life. Directionless, clueless, yes, but unmistakably there... Has Sharkû taught him to trust? Does he know the word that sums up all that will only be betrayed in the end? _

She was scared out of her thoughts when she felt herself being lifted and placed on the small stool. Talons pierced her silken dress and pressed into her buttocks, but they soon left to slide down to grab her thighs, parting them none too gently. Her already open dress slid down and settled over her groin. She hastily pulled it up and sent it flying over her head, afraid that the impatient male before her would rip it apart.

_Instinct_. He was acting on instinct, and suddenly she understood that he could very well rely on this ancient guide alone. It was that easy. She could literally lean back and let him do as he pleased. She was not used to having the passive part in this delicious game, but this time she deemed it wise. In this fortress she was no Haradrim High Priestess, yet she sensed that what she did was... not wrong.

Sweating with arousal and that prevailing edge of fear she watched him kneel down before her. He pushed his face between her legs, and a moment later she felt his tongue inside her; first a few rough licks sampling the taste of her sex, then eagerly probing deeper. Soon the sensation became overwhelming, and after a few breathless groans she almost passed out, fingers clenched onto the dangerously swaying stool, her body convulsing in a fear-drenched orgasm.

The next thing she felt was the long stroke of a male member inside her. Compared to the hot and quirky tongue the encounter was reassuring and familiar, strangely like coming home. She moved to meet the flesh caressing her inside and wondered if her unlikely lover felt the same. The slow, even rhythm he was establishing seemed strangely at odds with his inbred aggressiveness.

Puzzled she opened her eyes, and it was only then she realized that her lids had been tightly shut for some time. Upon witnessing the stupefied, blissful expression on a face that she had not deemed capable of displaying such emotions, she failed to suppress a broad grin: this was familiar too. More comfortable now, she slung her arms around his shoulders and hoisted her light body up against his, assuring him that she enjoyed their coupling as much as he did.

A growl rose from the Uruk's chest, and she was lifted off the stool. She was dimly grateful that the irritating sting of sharp nails stayed away this time, but that thought was wiped from her brain when the altered angle of his thrusts made her shiver and pant with lust. The world started to shrink around her. Already it was reduced to the sound of sweaty bodies grinding against each other.

The only other sensation she could perceive finally sent her over the edge. Seconds after he had begun to slam harder into her, she came again. Her scream ricocheted off the walls; its echo frightingly loud in the hall. Completely unfazed, he continued to do as his body dictated. Her fingers dug into his back. "How - can - you - last - so - long!" she gasped, desperately struggling for air that was constantly beaten from her lungs.

He replied with a snarl and bared teeth. In spite of the half-closed eyes, his features were no longer relaxed. Strong jaw muscles twitched, and again cold fear rippled through the woman's body. Cold also was the stone floor onto which she was half lowered, half thrown. Her head hurt from hitting it, but he had been careful enough. Still inside her, he resumed his relentless pounding. Her back and shoulders were painfully pushed over the obsidian tiles.

'Bastard! You will not use me like this!' She had never felt inferior to any male, Saruman being the only exception. Pride and ­– surprisingly – wrath stirred in her. Hands locked over his shoulderblades while her legs folded around the small of his back. He hissed like a furious snake and bucked against her. One of her heels landed between his buttocks, and she pressed down as hard as she could.

Suddenly they were face to face, and the woman wondered if she _was_ coupling with an animal after all. For a split second the gaping maw completely filled her vision. 'This is it,' she thought. Surely her feral lover would bite down during climax and thus end her life, razing open her throat and face. There – an ugly, crunching sound close to her ear. Panic-stricken, she once more shut her eyes.

A harsh, bellowing howl pierced her ears. Seconds passed, and the only discomfort she felt was caused by his weight pressing down on her. A gush of hot seed flooded her, and her body responded in its own, peculiar way: a third, slow orgasm washed over her. Strong contractions rippled through her vagina. The Uruk-hai responded with a grunt and leaned even heavier into her.

When she opened her eyes, his sweaty cheek was resting against hers. Carefully she tried to turn her head a bit and found she could not. But from the corner of one eye she saw now what had caused the horrible gnashing sound: He had bitten down indeed, but only on a strand of her thick hair. It was still firmly trapped between his teeth – wet, tangled and partly severed.

"I thought you'd kill me," she whispered barely audible and ran one hand through his coarse black mane until she found a pointed ear. Absent-mindedly, she began to caress it. The Uruk did not object to the gesture, and for a while she enjoyed the illusion that time stood still, until the weight of the creature pinning her down in the aftermath of its pleasure brought her back to reality. Her hand traveled to his broad back and slapped it slightly.

"You are crushing me. Let's get up... Please."

Once more Lurtz chose to stay silent. He lifted some of his bulk off her, raising himself a bit on elbows and knees, but she could still feel him buried inside her. Certainly limp and satisfied, but nevertheless liking where he was. A lazy tongue lapped her face, followed by a few tender bites that made her shiver, though this time not from fear. They did not break her skin, and she decided to take them for what she thought they were.

'If we had time, I'd teach you how to kiss.' It was a semi-serious thought, as she was still aware of his sharp teeth. But remembering his tongue exploring the most tender parts of her body, the idea was nevertheless seductive.

They did not have the luxury of time though. She was convinced that Saruman was capable of suspecting even the most unlikely reasons for their prolonged absence. Death could follow in the wake of his suspicions, just or unjust. She had witnessed such situations before – the only reason why she had never attempted flight from the iron confines of Isengard. Even now, a prisoner rather than a servant, she loved life too much to foolishly throw it away.

"We must go back," she whispered urgently, flexing exhausted muscles in hopes of convincing him to release her.

He obviously disapproved of the idea and discarded it with a snort.

"I want to do this again," he stated bluntly and rubbed his nose against the soft skin of her neck.

"So would I," she smiled and ran her hands over his flanks down to his buttocks, "but I am afraid our master will make me suffer if he finds out we did it _once_. Don't tell him – ever! – for he might kill me."

The strong body tensed, and he lifted his head to look her in the face. A deep, vertical crease marked his forehead. An eternity seemed to pass, and the frown eventually began to disperse. This time she did not avert her eyes as he stared into them, his expression calm, but otherwise utterly inscrutable.

"I was ordered not to hurt you. I have not, and I will not."

The few words rang in her ears like a solemn speech. Indeed it was the longest verbal utterance she had ever heard from Lurtz. She blinked several times in disbelief.

"Thank you."

There wasn't anything else to say. The Uruk-hai reluctantly pulled out of her. She suppressed a moan at the loss and watched him slowly scramble to his feet, his unwillingness clearly visible in every single move, as if he feigned awkwardness and fatigue just to have an excuse to lie down again, so that he could lick and bite her until his body was again ready to pleasure both of them.

The woman came to stand on wobbly legs, more drained than she had expected to be. While she picked up her garment, she waited for her lover's seed to trickle down her legs, so she could wipe it off her thighs. But not much showed. Mildly surprised she recalled the generous flooding of her welcoming body ­– and her last orgasm.

Quickly she ripped one of the rags apart and folded it into a little roll that she slipped into her body while Lurtz observed every single move. He sensed that whatever distressed her now had nothing to do with him, but everything with Saruman. Nevertheless her cheeks began to burn when she realized he had witnessed what she had just done. Slipping into her dress, she turned around to leave. This was becoming unbearable...

He followed her quietly, not touching her once on their way back.

Saruman's stony expression upon their return had been unsettling, but the White One had asked no questions nor commented on the length of their absence. She had delivered Lurtz like some piece of chattel – and felt sadness doing so. Upon her departure, her charge had not even turned his head to follow her with his gaze, and that had hurt too, but the practical part of her mind reasoned that it had been sensible of him, protecting her.

She did not see the Uruk-hai again. Well, maybe she did see him, but she couldn't have told for sure, because Saruman's soldiers all looked the same from afar. The woman kept a safe distance from his army, well aware that she had no business in that world of bloodlust and slaughter, of battle and death. Moreover, she doubted she would be received in a friendly manner if she ever dared venturing near their leader.

The woman was smart enough to realize she had not fallen for Saruman's dangerous creation, but in spite of her daily routine days would slowly lump into weeks – weeks that felt like heavy stones piling on her chest. As fate would have it, Lurtz was the one who had made her feel alive again after a long, bone-chilling numbness, and living meant to be able to feel: joy, lust, but also fear, sadness and pain.

Also, she had not bled in two moons, so there could be no longer any doubt. Getting up in the morning became increasingly difficult; she felt always drained and sluggish, no matter how long she had rested. Morning sickness had not bothered her overly much when she had been pregnant with her daughter, and it was the same now. Fortunately the queasiness would pass soon after getting up, enabling her to keep in all the precious food she could get her hands on.

The prospect of having another child did not frighten her, nor did it ever enter her mind that there could be anything monstrous about it. Only the White One, with his cold, all-seeing eyes gave her plenty of reason to worry. She desperately hoped that he would not find about her condition – a hope that was unfounded of course. His gaze, black like Orthanc's stone, perceived everything, and what he did not witness in person, he could easily pry from those serving him.

For a while, the Haradrim servant was lucky. Another two and a half months passed, and the wizard had not once called her into his quarters. She lived in constant dread of this to happen, but soon there would be no means of hiding her pregnancy anyway.

Already her belly was rounding, much earlier than when she had carried her daughter. Both her dresses were ready to give way any time ­– an unexpected twist of the body or a raised arm could have more than embarrassing results.

"Necheykha!"

The single word coming from his lips resounded like a whiplash. Her lids fluttered, and she knew her usually olive-colored face must be turning ashen, for she could feel all blood leaving it. Cold and shaky, the woman thought she was going to faint. Only sheer willpower, fueled by the responsibility for the life stirring in her, kept her on her feet.

"Yes, master."

"You will meet me in my quarters after dinner tonight."

"Yes, master."

There was no escape, nowhere to run and hide. If she tried, some Orc guard would inevitably catch her and deal with her roughly. These creatures only had limited patience with trespassers. Even if her captor knew her status, he would still take the liberty of tormenting her in some small way. In her condition, she would not even risk one rough push or being prodded with a weapon.

So she tried to force herself into believing that tonight would be like any other night she had spent with the White One, but to no avail. As always she dreaded his cold fingers on her body, his arrogant absent-mindedness even when he used her body. Luckily this happened rarely enough – not because he couldn't, but because he didn't care. Occasions as this one always left her drained, on the brink of mental and physical annihilation. She doubted she'd be able to bear it in her state.

"Undress."

Alarmed, she stared in his face, surprised beyond fear. He had never asked her to undress during their meetings. She had always done it anyway, more or less. Reluctantly she opened her garment and rid herself of the faded silk. In spite of the warmth from the fireplace she was trembling violently. Trying to regain her composure, she lowered her gaze and stubbornly stared at her naked feet.

Saruman chuckled. For all the amusement it was supposed to betray, it was not a friendly sound.

"So the two of you enjoyed each other. Admittedly, the result is more than I had hoped for."

She remained silent, fighting nausea.

"You did not flatter yourself to the extent of believing this was unplanned, or did you?" he prodded. Vanity and arrogance oozed through the veneer of words spoken in a flat, cold voice.

Humiliation began to burn, and her feet were blurring in front of her eyes, but summoning all her courage, she looked up again, blinking away the tears.

"What will become of my child?"

"Your children will become the ancestors of a new race."

She swallowed hard, not really taking in what he said. At this moment, she only understood that the White One had used her again, and there was no doubt her child and its own children would suffer the same fate.

"Do you wish me to...?" she reeled off mechanically.

"Fie! After you lay with that uncouth beast! Be gone!" He dismissed her with a wave of his arm, but Necheykha was already gathering her dress around her and rushed to the heavy doors of his master bedroom.

Necheykha leaned against the cold, smooth sill of a narrow window. Thinking herself well-hidden from sight, she took in the hustle and bustle below. It appeared that Orthanc coughed up more and more Uruk-hai every day, almost convulsingly shaking unto its very foundation with unnatural effort.

She did not know if the ferociously shouting and snarling mass below made her skin crawl or if it was the draft whipping about the hem of her tightening dress. Soothingly she put her hands over her swelling belly, and her eyes sought out two of the creatures who were obviously engaged in a fight. It was not clear what their dispute was about, but soon a circle formed around them, cheering them on.

Suddenly another one began to cut through the crowd, shouldering aside those who were not fast enough to make room for him. He was taller and heavier set than most of them, and his face was adorned with the white print of a hand. Obviously the leader of this troop.

His features distorted in a rage – the white hand seemingly clutching at his face – and with a roar he grabbed one of the fighters unceremonously by his thick hair, yanking back his head. A strong leg lashed out and dislodged the other Uruk's footing. He fell, but was instantaneously suspended by his coarse mane. The leader shouted something and, with a powerful flick of his fist, forced his victim to the ground.

Stunned, the floored Uruk rubbed his by no means frail shoulders and neck. He maintained a subdued silence while the tall one with the prominent hand-print mark growled something that might have been an instruction of some sort. The others listened obediently, nodded, and some grinned in anticipation of...

What!

Necheykha understood enough of the Black Speech as she needed to get by, but the guttural, growling dialect of Saruman's Uruk-hai was a challenge she wasn't up to, certainly not at this distance. She could make out that they talked about leaving tonight and war, but as much as she leaned forward and strained her ears, this was all she could understand with certainty.

Her baby obviously didn't enjoy being crushed against a cold iron-stone wall, and it kicked violently. This had never happened before, and the woman gave a little yelp of pain and surprise. Supporting herself with her hands on the stone ledge, she tried to regain her breath.

The leading Uruk-hai's gaze flew up and locked onto the tiny window some 30 feet above, in which a dark-haired figure was framed. Necheykha's first impulse was to retreat – she certainly didn't wish to draw attention to herself – but she was too slow anyway. Lamely staggering backwards, her eyes met those of Saruman's soldier.

Only then she recognized the cold, relentless glare; the familiar knitting of his brow – a deep vertical crease that somehow made him look grimly thoughtful rather than mindlessly fierce. Her heart began to race, and the baby, probably agitated by its mother's inner turmoil, thrashed wildly in her body.

Feeling sick, the woman lowered herself against the wall. Memories came flooding back to her. Only 30 feet away was the father of her child yelling orders and manhandling his fearsome army into shape. He would never know, unless –

An idea began to take shape in her mind.

Necheykha's hands were flying. They did all the work by themselves – she was merely supervising their moves. She felt oddly lightheaded and did not even realize she was breathily whistling a little tune. Quickly she folded her coarse blanket and a precious lace curtain secured from one of the rarely used salons into a shapely parcel and proceeded to stuff both into a capacious leather sack. The precious fabric could easily be traded in for something more useful. Every move reminded her of how desperately she needed a new dress.

Food she could not take much. An irregular trip to the kitchens would be too dangerous – too many of the servants knew her face as well as her name. There were more Orcs than Men at Isengard now, and somehow this had hightened the humans' awareness of each other's presence. They would most definitely take notice of a pregnant woman.

Straightening up, she paused to scrutinize her handiwork. Pressing her hands against the small of her back, Necheykha wondered about her child. Now that its mother had come to a resolve, the frantic movements had subsided. Yet she felt all was well with the life growing in her.

Closing her eyes, Necheykha recalled the face of her daughter, who had stayed behind with her mother in sunny and beautiful Harad, as it was the tradition for the children of a High Priestess. How often had she dreamed of returning there! But even her newly found resolve could not lure her into believing that she would ever make it to that faraway place.

Her eyes trailed to the window. The weak and bleary November sun was already setting behind the looming black trees of the adjacent forest – what was left of them, that was. Time to put on the coat she had snatched from one from the larger Orcs. She hoped that the smell, however repulsive, would provide some additional cover.

Then the ground beneath her bare feet began to rumble, the now familiar tremor caused by Isengard's most recent inhabitants – the Uruk-hai. Somewhere metal grated on metal and deep voices could be heard in the distance. There was the trampling of many heavy feet, the clanging of weapons.

_Now, Necheykha. Now or never._

Silently and almost light-footed in spite of the child under her heart, she approached one of the less frequented flights to the base of the tower. Six years she had spent here, six cold winters she had been homesick for Harad, and to distract herself the young woman had explored every corner of her vast, obsidian prison. She could have found her way outside blindfold.

That knowledge came in handy now. Light-footed she might have been, but her heart beat frantically and painfully against her ribcage. The decision had been made though. Saruman would never get her child – either way.

Scuttling like a snaga, she sneaked past the Uruk-hai who where clearly too excited about getting out to even slap or jostle her for sheer entertainment. The number of dark, massive bodies was overwhelming, as was their heavy musk, and this was only the first troop to file out of Isengard. Sneezing from whirled-up dust as well as their distinct smell, she pressed against a wall for a few seconds. But her luck held, and after a few seconds Necheykha had calmed herself enough to walk toward the gate in what she hoped was a casual, yet purposeful demeanor. Not that running was any longer an option for her...

Crossing the impressive expanse of the yard was the next challenge she faced. She knew that the White One would watch his army, full of pride and eagerness to wage war on some of Middle-earth's peoples. The thought alone filled her with disgust but helped to fend off other emotions that could impair her thinking. Pulling her filthy cloak tighter around her, she consoled herself that he would be looking down from a great height. Her carefully mud-smeared hair would serve to hide her well. Necheykha had always taken great pride in her cleanliness, and Saruman knew that.

Suddenly, the shadow of the main gate fell on her, stark and ominous even against the already dim sky. Her heart missed a beat. Snaga Orcs and some other folk were guarding the gate, and the first had excellent night-vision. So far she had trotted alongside the Uruks who didn't care, but her still too human shape could evoke the guards' distrust.

To her great relief, some snagas were accompanying the Uruk-hai army. Whether as some sort of escort or as reinforcement, she did not know. What mattered was that some of them were bold enough to mingle with the Great Orcs of the White Hand, who were either too well disciplined by now or too single-minded to pick on their smaller brethren. Avoiding any touch, Necheykha weaved her way into the loosely ordered ranks of the Uruk-hai. She desperately tried to match their powerful stride and was so absorbed in the effort that she hardly noticed that they had passed the gate.

Behind them, a horn uttered an eerie, resonating note. The sound chilled Necheykha to the bone, but then it slowly sank in that she was free – ironically safe amidst Saruman's most powerful army: the Fighting Uruk-hai! She stifled the urge to cry out in joy and triumph. The rest would be easy. She would slowly drift to the side and eventually melt into the forest where it was still lush and healthy. She was confident that the Uruks couldn't be bothered with some snaga gone astray.

The echo of the horn's call was still in the air, as the troop unexpectedly started to pick up speed. All of a sudden, she was surrounded by the heavy stomping of iron-shod boots, and one of Saruman's soldiers almost bumped into her. Instead of making impact, he cursed viciously and stretched a long arm to hurl her out of his way. Necheykha lost her foothold and was thrown back into the middle of the running Uruk-hai.

As she fell, her only emotion was silent gratitude for the reflex that had made her stretch her right arm. Somehow she had managed to catch herself on that arm and her twisted feet without landing on her belly. Some Uruks simply ignored her, others shouted and cursed. She scrambled to her feet, afraid that they would kick her out of sheer spite. Just as she had righted herself, another one barged into her back.

He grabbed her shoulder and shook her violently.

"Stop – stop. _Please_ stop!" she wailed.

Even for a very intimidated snaga the creature's behavior was strange, and the Uruk's eyes narrowed. He stopped abusing his victim and pulled it around to look at its face. Upon seeing a human countenance, he burst into roaring laughter.

"What are you doing here, weakling?" he asked in abysmally bad Westron. "Has Sharkey sent you along as a food ration?" Grinning, he licked his teeth. Necheykha did not avert her gaze. Oddly enough, the baby moving inside her gave her enough confidence to speak up. "I am from Isengard and under Saruman's orders, just like you," she countered in Black Speech.

"And what would those orders be?" he sneered.

Others were pushing against them and more cursing ensued. Weapons and shoulders hard with well-trained muscles brushed or hit them, and within seconds there was quite a turmoil. But just when Necheykha saw herself surrounded by five or six Uruks, another one cut through the crowd. His fellows obligingly cleared the path for him, and he came to stand right before Necheykha, towering over the rather grotesque looking woman.

At this point, she was too shaken to speak. She looked into the angry eyes of the Uruk-hai leader, and memories – completely out of place here – washed over her. _The rough licking of a curious tongue. Pleased purring that resonated through her body._ _A hot, heavy body against hers. _His nostrils widened, then his eyes too. He recognized her, but the vertical line on his forehead remained. "What are you doing here?" he demanded abruptly and irritably.

She managed a voiceless whisper.

"I... fled... because I don't want to endanger my child."

His gaze traveled downward and he took in her changed form, while she briefly wondered if the Uruk-hai had ever seen animals heavy with young.

"Your child is in danger _here_," he growled in a low voice, not sounding particularly patient. "Go back. I have not forgotten my promise, but neither will I vouch for your safety."

"No!" Necheykha shook her head vehemently. "Saruman will make our child a slave, just like... us."

At that, he grabbed her arm and hauled her away from the others to the side of the road. There, he made her look him in the eye, painfully cupping her chin and forcing her to lift her head. She felt her neck cramp. One sharp claw was dangerously close to her racing pulse, and she let out a gasp.

"What wizardry is this?" he hissed dangerously close to her face.

"Saruman's wizardry," she replied bitterly.

"You're lying," he snorted, but it did not sound convinced.

She had begun to cry silently, entangled in the warring of an absurd impulse of wanting to hide in his arms and demand the protection she and her child were entitled to and mortal fear of being ripped apart by Saruman's strongest and possibly cruelest creation.

For a few seconds they just stood there. She made no attempt to fight him, completely resigned in his merciless grip. Even now, he liked to feel her close and his loins were stirring, but her passivity was unnerving. Helplessness was not an emotion he had encountered before, but Lurtz was well aware that it would inevitably give way to anger, as all of his unpleasant emotions eventually did.

"If you think I am lying, kill me and the child now."

To her surprise, one of the calloused fingers gently caressed her chin, albeit the owner of that finger made no other attempt to ease her discomfort. His look was still taxing. She swallowed.

"And if I don't kill you?"

"Then I will raise my – our – child in freedom. It is strong, and I..."

His expression made her fall silent.

"Go!" he snarled, taking his hand off her chin.

In disbelief, she stumbled backward, half expecting a blow or a push. She nodded through the tears, but he had already spun around to shout orders at his subordinates. Then he merged with the other Uruk-hai and was gone, as the troop's rearguard disappeared in the twilight.

Slowly, the woman turned around and stepped into the dark woods. They held no threat, as she had witnessed and faced darkness of another, far more dangerous kind. And there was a task at hand. Gently and lovingly Necheykha caressed her swelling belly. There was somebody who needed her.

If she could, she would take him back, to the light.

22


End file.
